


To Join the Black Parade

by Pollys_hymnia



Series: Elrond's Encyclopedia of Cryptozoology [6]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bad middle earth cryptids, But he's not really capable, Crack, Don't smudge his eyeliner, Em-arfin, Emo Finarfin, Emo Goth Finarfin, Finarfin's more interesting alter-ego, Gen, Goth Finarfin, IT'S ALL CRACK, Middle Earth Cryptids, Mopey Cryptids of Middle Earth, Sad emo elves, Sorry Finarfin, Stalking the streets of Tirion, This is as close as he gets, almost-angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-11-18 16:36:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18123788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollys_hymnia/pseuds/Pollys_hymnia
Summary: Regret does strange things to Finarfin.  But not that strange.  At night, he transforms into a more interesting version of himself as he mopes around the streets of Tirion.





	To Join the Black Parade

**Author's Note:**

  * For [actuallyfeanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/actuallyfeanor/gifts).



> Title from My Chemical Romance (of course)

In all the realms of Arda, change will come.  It may come slowly and it may be subtle, but nothing remains untouched in the endless flow of time. 

The companion of change is regret, and regret can do strange things to a person.  Whether it was regret for the things he had done, or perhaps more likely for the things he had not done, Finarfin felt its blunt ache with each step he took down Tirion’s winding streets.  He would often walk alone, under the pale light of the moon, throughout the long ages that came after the Flight of the Noldor.  And slowly he too was changed.

He rather looked, if any had seen him, more like his half-brother at these times.  Even his golden hair seemed to grow darker in his distress.  He kept his head bowed as he trudged, and let the long strands sweep over half his face.  There was a faint shadow under his eyes—eyes that glistened with a wateriness that hinted at unshed tears.  For he would shed no tears.  Tears would ruin the morose mask he wore while he grieved.  And he did grieve.  He grieved for his family and for all the things that had been lost, lost even before he had ever known them.  And now he never would.

As he wandered he sang a soft tune to himself.  It was haunting, mournful—but not too mournful.  That would be unseemly, and even at his darkest Finarfin was never unseemly.  He was simply… different.  More contemplative, more somber, more profound.  He was both more himself than ever, even while he was less so.

Night-Finarfin displayed many behaviors that were not usual to his day-time self.  Where normally he would move with an easy grace, now he would drag his feet in an uneven gait.  He was bent on stepping on every crack in the pavement that he could.  He painted his front door black.  And he may have left it unlocked when he departed his home, he didn’t even check.  He didn’t even care.

He was also easily startled.  If he heard the stir of a creature he would jump, too lost in himself to pay due attention to his surroundings.  That was how he realized, with a start, that he actually was _lost_. 

Somehow he had wandered into an alley he did not know.  It was dark, dark like his soul.  He sank down against the cold stone wall and melted into ground, like a sad puddle of emotion.  After all, nothing really mattered in the end.

When the sun rose, and day came, he was gone.  It was as though he had never been. But he had, and he would return again.  Some things could not be fixed, some hurts could never be healed. During the day, at least, he let himself forget.  But night always followed.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to [actuallyfeanor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/actuallyfeanor) once more for this utter crack idea


End file.
